Neath Golden Harvest Moon

Here comes the fall of autumn leaves,   

here comes the harvest moon,               

and full shall be my heart that grieves,   

my love thou didst impugn.                     

 

How can it be thou misconceives           

a love in torment hewn,                          

how can it be that thou believes

of love I am immune           

 

Thou sayeth thee can love me not

thou shalt not love affine,

take mine and not my brothers heart,

let’s drink of passions wine

 

Harvest my heart for thee it grieves

cast on the earth it strewn               

Harvest my heart for it is thine     

‘neath golden harvest moon.

 

Anna :o]  

 

Rosemary at Poets and Storytellers United has prompted us to write about the moon and above is my offering.  It is not new as I wrote it over a decade ago, but it came to mind and fits the bill.  Cheers for the prompt Rosemary!

Image:  Courtesy of Wikemedia Commons

End of Life

Michael 1976

He looks a lot smaller this day,

disappearing under the bed sheets,

shrinking into the mattress.

 

Everything is slowing down…

 

Soon everything will stop

and I wont know what to do with myself

 

I will be lost    so very lost

 

without him.

 

Anna

 

My Michael passed away August 2021 at the grand old age of seventy-two.  His death was expected.  He was the love of my life.

Michael had been a resident in the most wonderful caring care home since 2014.  It became his new home and he recognised the staff more than he did me and our two sons.  This did not hurt us at all as it was proof of how much he was so loved by the staff and indeed he was.  He felt safe, felt loved.  His care was exemplary and how so evident this was in his last three weeks of life, staff visiting him on their days off or phoning in to see how he was, asking if he still was with us.  Lovely lovely lovely people.

I wrote the above words sometime within these last three weeks, filled with grief of expected loss.

Our two sons and I found our eventual loss not as profound as we had expected it to be.  Timewise our grief passed relatively quickly.  I guess a slow separation had begun in 2014… the emotional distance.

I still find myself saying “Hello Michael” to his photograph and kissing him there.  I like that.  He is free and I am not lost.  Loves ya Michael!

Shared with the lovely people at Poets and Storytellers United, hosted by Rommy – cheers Rommy!